


The Hallows People

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2nd Person, Case Fic, Dean's POV, Hallows is a Place, M/M, Made-Up Monster, NOT READER INERT, Present Tense, Wincest Endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In Hallows, the people are weird, and the things left unsaid are ever weirder.A monster? Yeah, the two brothers can handle that. A monster that they're not quite sure on the species of? Harder, but it's been done before.But this time they're flying blind, and they've got nothing to work with.And then Dean disappears.





	The Hallows People

**Author's Note:**

> WARNNG: This is written in the second person (AKA you, yours) but it is NOT a reader insert. It's simply Dean's perspective, in a less-common style of writing. I wanted to see how well I could do that style. And I normally hate things like that (no fucking clue what possessed me to do this) so, uh... Yeah. If this isn't your cuppa tea....leave? Or stick around and cringe along with me at how badly it just....ew. Yeah.
> 
> Let's do this!

If you were to ask anyone who lived in Hallows what exactly had happened ten years ago, what was happening now, you wouldn't get a straight answer. You'd get one or two blank stares, maybe, but most people would look as scared as if the devil himself was after their soul. Nobody would say anything, like they were all a part of a collective hive mind that whispered to them,  _Don't_ _speak. Don't speak. Don't speak._ And they didn't.

You have to be careful around Hallows people.

But what had drawn you to Hallows in the first place? Why were you here? Your brother said it was because people had been going missing, but that's not it. People go missing all the time, so why should you concern yourself with Hallows in particular? It was their fear, that was what kept you there. Your brother had been drawn in by the mystery, and you'd followed, because where your brother goes you go. That's how it's always been. But what really kept you from turning around and marching right back out of Hallows was the way the entire town was scared to silence. Something big had happened, but it had been covered up so thoroughly that it now only existed in Hallows' memory.

That's what you are here for. You want to find out.

Currently, the two of you are in yet another motel, this one really the only rentable living space in Hallows. The other one is below even your standards, and you had wondered, upon seeing it, how it was even still operable.

Sammy's currently pulling his hair out in frustration, and you're doing absolutely nothing to help.

"I just don't get it." He says, and you raise an eyebrow because there is a lot of it to  _not get._ When he sees your face, he rolls his eyes. However, he also starts to explain what he meant, so you count that as a win in your book.

"The locals." He says. "I haven't been able to get  _anyone_  to talk to me. I've started talking to anybody I can, and....nothing!" This isn't anything new, but Sammy is getting more and more worked up over it.

"What about the teens?" You point out. "They seem pretty open." Like this isn't something you've already tried. 

"None of them remember!" Sam exclaims, waving his arms around like  _that'll_ relieve the stress. You watch his hair flop around as he gestures, and secretly, you're glad he never cuts it.

"So, are we thinking a town-wide curse, then?" It's an angle you've tried before, but you're a week in and tensions are starting to run high.

" _I don't know, Dean._ "Sam grits out.

Yeah, he's really at the end of his rope, here. Which is only to be expected, seeing as you've both been in Hallows for what's bordering on a week now with absolutely no progress. Every time you think you've found a lead, it turns out to be a bust. You really probably shouldn't bother Sam any more.

Instead, you close your eyes and think about simply giving up on the case. It's a nice thought, but.... It isn't, really. You're not so selfish that you'd abandon something the instant it doesn't go your way. You just don't give up, period, proving this time and time again. The deaths would weigh on you if you left, the awful feeling of abandoning people to die (because those that went missing have been gone a long time now and every day there are new missing persons called in), and you just aren't like that. You sigh, not intending to but somehow sounding like a drama queen.

Sam pulls a bitchface. "Come on, Dean, at least help me go over what we've already got. We might have missed something."

"Not likely," you mutter, but get up anyways. You snatch whatever paper Sammy's been looking at last, and start scanning it, dropping down on the ratty old couch.

It takes you a while (too long) to realize that you've been reading the same line over and over, not making any progress. You've read this paper before, but it's only the vaguest bit familiar and you should've been paying more attention.

You toss the paper away from yourself and fling an arm up over your eyes, suddenly irritated and impatient.

Sammy looks over at you, looking for all the world like he didn't know what you were frustrated about. Stupid college boy.

Making a split-second decision, you stand up and grab your jacket from where you had left it draped across the back of the chair nearest the door. "Snack run," you say, when in years past your excuse for leaving would have been the "hot chicks, Sam." You slip out the door before he can argue, and take a breath of fall air (although when does winter technically start?) before turning left and making your way up the street. A week had been more than enough to orient yourself to the nearest food source, and by now you know exactly where they keep the pie. And hey, maybe you'll bring something back for Sam, too.

After about five minutes of walking, the cold starts to get to you, and you're glad that you're able to duck into the store on the right. It's practically empty, only a mother and her squalling baby a few aisles down but not subtle in the least. The kid working the register is a gangly, awkward teenager, and you wave at him as you walk past. "Hey, Jake."

He looks up briefly from the book he was reading, and goes back to ignoring you.

Unperturbed by this, you keep walking, heading to the back of the store where the really unhealthy foods are kept that you know Sam would have a fit over.  _You've_ _really stereotyped yourself, here, Sammy_  you think, and peek around the corner, where the baby is nearly flipping itself out of the shopping cart as it tries to reach for Skittles.

You turn away hurriedly, not wanting to be blamed for any accidents (hysterical mothers can come to the weirdest conclusion sometimes, and you don't want a repeat of the last time it's happened) and loading up on a bunch of food to take back to the motel room. After dropping the food several times, though, you begin to regret not grabbing a basket or whatever because as stupidly domestic as it looks, it would have been really useful.

Making sure you're out of sight of any security cameras, though, you quickly shove several of the smaller things into your pockets, promising mentally that you'll take them out later and give them to the cashier and  _actually_ _pay for them._ Yeah, right.

A cute little elderly lady comes doddering down the aisle, humming softly to herself and looking for "mangoes, mangoes, mangoes...."

You wonder if she's got a mental illness, but feel like that was a little bit harsh. She's probably really sweet.

You try to dodge her walker but are moments too slow, and clumsily trip over the little tennis balls on the bottom. The orange you were going to bring back to Sam rolls away, and a quick search reveals that you're actually sitting on the pretzels.

You've managed to keep and actual grip on nothing but the M&M's.  _Priorities._

You try to stand up without stepping on any of the food, and after making sure you know where everything went, you turn to apologize to the old lady. Only to find that she's long gone.  _Must have kept walking in all that mess,_ you think, and any nice thoughts are long gone.

You're able to gather everything up fairly quickly (although you're a goddamn hunter, why was it so hard to track down a single freaking orange?), and in all of the recent commotion and subsequent hustle for the food, it's taken you far too long to notice that the baby's stopped crying.

You put everything down on the lettuce display (it's not like anyone would be going after the lettuce) and creep slowly to the other aisle. Maybe you would've ignored it in any other situation, but after the mess with the lady (her creepiness and the disappearing act) you just want to make sure everything's okay. So you're a little freaked out, so what.

Your hunter senses were tingling.

You round the end of the aisle (noting the peanut butter for later) and don't see anything immediately suspicious. The baby's happily chewing on the edge of the Skittles wrapper, but the tired mother is gone, too.

Now you're on high alert.

You check behind you, but there's nothing. Not sounds of feet, not even the slightest murmur of crappy elevator music. And in front, there's nothing but clear floor.

You squint. There's an odd glitter to it, which on closer inspection turns out to be very small pieces of glass, crushed almost to dust.

And then you spot the problem, and you have absolutely no idea what to make of it.

The mother must have been shopping for cherries, because there's a shattered jar of them across the floor, ugly and messy and mixed with sharp shard of glass like some hipster metaphor for life.

There's small blood splatters, small and inconspicuous but you've been doing the job long enough to know full well what blood looks like. And a few feet away, there's a footprint, but you aren't part of the forensics unit and it looks too androgynous for you to tell who exactly it came from, male or female. It looks to be about a size ten, though.

You follow the footprint that appears every few feet (how sloppy of them. Not like you should really be criticizing, as it'd only make your job harder, but still. If they're gonna kill somebody, they gotta do it right) until it starts to get faint and shiny-looking, and abruptly, there's a door in your face and you're in front of the staff room with a decision to make.

You can keep going, but the baby's still back there and something's clearly on the loose (for a brief second, a hysterical thought flits across your mind that it might be the old lady). Or you could stay with the infant until someone comes to take care of it, and chance the thing getting away (because you're approximately 99% sure that the mother did  _not_  slice herself on the cherry jar and go seek help).

Pulling out your phone, you decide to start by calling Sam, either to get him over here to help with the baby or the monster, or to inform him about this latest development.

"Sammy." You bark out before he has a chance to say anything. "I'm at the grocery store. And it looks like the cause of the disappearances is too."

Almost before you can blink, Sam is at the store and beside you, explaining that the Impala is parked outside and he gave the baby to the cashier.

The image of Jake trying to handle a crying baby (it has to be upset by now, babies are just....like that) is almost too funny, and you struggle to keep a straight face.

However, your thoughts circle back around to the smears of blood on the floor, and your grin drops off immediately. You have more important things to worry about than Jake and his baby-handling skills (although the little asshole deserves it. He's probably the least helpful human being in the world).

Gesturing for Sam to follow you, you start heading back to where the staff room was, pointing out the mess and the footprints on the floor.

When you reach the door, Sam stops suddenly, looking as if he's listening to something. "Do you hear that, Dean?" He asks.

You strain your ears, but you don't hear anything. You shrug at him, and start to move forwards, opening the door, more confident now with your brother at your back.

The staff room's small, just a Coca-Cola vending machine in the back and a small table and some chairs, and a few appliances that were clearly the bare minimum required. You still don't hear anything, but Sam's acting decidedly skittish, and you wonder in passing if it's one of those "Azazel's children" things or you're just being really obtuse right now.

You scan the room for the (worst case, body of the) mother, because this was the only place the footprints led to, but they had faded about three steps in.  You glance up at the ceiling, before you start checking under the table. Sam is about five feet away, opening and closing all of the cabinets in a sort of a frantic fashion, and you are getting kind of worried, because anything freaking Sam out this much had to be something bad.

You straighten up, getting out from under the table, when you notice a sigil on the back of one of the chairs. Leaning closer to examine it, your fingers brush against it, feeling the engraving and noticing how it seems to have been stabbed into the chair with a pen, smudges of ink in the corners.

That's all you have time to process, though, before you feel a nasty twisting in your gut and everything turns white.


End file.
